


All I Want For Satinalia (Is You)

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fireside Sex, Gift Giving, Hair Washing, Holidays, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Presents, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Surprises, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: There's only thing in all of Thedas that Varric wants for Satinalia. Paige Hawke delivers, and then some.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: Satinalia 2020





	All I Want For Satinalia (Is You)

Varric sighed into his - fifth? Was this his fifth? - mug of ale for the evening. As far as lavish celebrations went, the office of the Viscount spared no expense for Satinalia. Varric had managed to dissuade Bran from some of the truly offensive opulent gestures, like importing ice sculptures into the _fucking Free Marches_ , but as far as the food and drink went, it was the best that could be had, even and especially for Kirkwall. The nobles were certainly far from displeased, eating and drinking their fill even as some still found reasons to sneer. _Fuck them_ , Varric figured. They were the type that would make up a reason to complain if there truly wasn't any, and so Varric didn't worry. If all they could do was turn their nose up at minor trifles, he was doing a good job. Good enough, at least, even with Bran's nagging.

He threw a half-hearted smile at a passing noble, raising his tankard at them before raising it to his lips and draining the rest. _Oof_ , there it was, those bitter dregs that nobles said gave the higher end brew its character, but he truly couldn't care less. He'd spent much of his life drinking what could be had at The Hanged Man, a discerning tongue, he had not. He was most concerned with c _ould this get him drunk_ , a most important objective, indeed. One he was particularly concerned with at the present time.

As he went to refill his mug again, Bran's hand landed on his shoulder. "Really, Messere?"

"What, is the Viscount not allowed to have any fun at all, now?" Varric drawled, rolling his eyes.

Bran gave as good as he got, to his credit, stiffening as he pointed out, "I didn't realise having fun was downing seven ales within two hours."

_Seven? Damn._ If he was losing count this early, that meant the whole night was going to be a wash and he might as well stop while he was ahead. Setting his mug on the counter next to the cask, he turned around and aimed for the door that would take him up to his private quarters.

"And just where do you think you're going?!" Bran sputtered behind him, but he waved him off as he climbed the stairs, purposefully neglecting to say good night to any of the nobles as he slipped through the door. They wouldn't even notice him leaving anyway. They didn't much care for his presence, truth be told. Sure, they liked how he fixed up the city, how he restarted the commerce, how he shouldered the burden so none of them would have to. But beyond that, he could simply disappear and they wouldn't give half a nug's shit. And that was fine by him, truly it was. But when it came to evenings like this one, evenings when he just wanted to relax and spend time with one person in particular - one person that was, as far as he knew, in the ass-end of Thedas at the moment - the last thing he definitely wanted to do was to rub shoulders with nobles and be admonished for his drinking.

The servants had at least seen fit to make sure his fireplace was well stocked, and he only did a cursory stoking before settling into his chair, kicking off his boots and sinking his toes into the thick carpet. _Ahhh._ Well, if there were some advantages to be had for being Viscount, this was surely one of them. He'd had to remodel, of course, have it redesigned to his personal taste, but when it came to the economic savior of Kirkwall, Bran had seen to it that they spared no expense. And, well, needless to say, The Hanged Man it was not. While he might feel more well-suited to the Lowtown joint, if he had to take up residence in Hightown, he might as well do it in style.

He had actually begun to doze there by the fire when he heard the door creak open. Not even opening his eyes, he sighed and immediately complained, "Bran, c'mon, no more for tonight. Let me mope in peace."

Instead of Bran responding, however, a rather more welcome voice spoke with a chuckle. "Well, if that's how you really feel, I suppose I can find a more welcoming homecoming downstairs …"

Varric almost jumped out of his chair, eyes flying open and head whipping around to see her standing there, heavily cloaked, her smile just barely showing from under her hood. With deft movement, she lifted it, shaking out her loose scarlet bangs, the rest of her hair pulled up into her usual mussed bun. Her eyes sparkled like jade stones in the firelight, and the way her lips curved upwards in that smile just about had Varric's tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. About the only thing he could do was stammer until he finally managed to get out, "We- … how … when? I thought you were still at Weisshaupt?"

And then she laughed and Varric's heart soared in his chest, that familiar ache filling him as that missing piece slid right back into place. "The Wardens there were no help at all and wanted nothing to do with me. I can tell when I'm not wanted, so I left. I sent a raven, didn't you get my letters?"

The Dwarf growled, an answer in and of itself. He was going to have to have a certain conversation with Bran, one that likely would lead to a lot of yelling and headache for the both of them, but later for that. She was back. She was _home_. And while he was sure the Champion of Kirkwall would receive a warm welcome, indeed, at the Viscount's Satinalia party, she would receive an even warmer welcome in his chambers. Reaching out a hand toward her, he took her hand in his palm, thumb caressing the soft skin, feeling the callouses where she gripped her staff. For once that evening, he sighed not in frustration or boredom, but in relief, relief that she'd made it back, that she was in one piece. Their little trip through the Fade was … _harrowing_ to say the least. Even the little terrors that the fear demon dredged up was nothing compared to what he felt in that place. Not just because he was there - though that was a good part of it - but because _she_ was there. She was in danger. Not in some metaphoric, esoteric sense, but very real, very present danger. And while he was there and he did his level best to protect her, standing beside her and covering her as she flung spells left and right, the demons that swarmed them seemed never ending at times. After they finally escaped, they only had a little time together before she agreed to travel to Weisshaupt to contact the rest of the Wardens for the Inquisition and … that was it. One letter - _one_ \- that he managed to receive right after she arrived, and then nothing. He'd be getting to the bottom of why he only received one, but what mattered is that she was here, she was safe.

With a quick movement, he pulled her into his lap, and as she let out a gasp of surprise, his lips covered hers. She melted into him, humming in pleasure as his fingers circled around her waist, holding her close to him. They might have stayed like that the entire night and he would have been content - not _perfectly_ , but content - but they eventually parted. Chuckling against his lips, she whined, "Varric, I just got back, I haven't even had a chance to wash the road off."

"Hmm, guess we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

With just a swift word to a passing servant, a tub and hot water was brought to his chambers immediately, along with all the necessities needed for a nice soak. The ones who trekked it all in only nodded to the Champion in acknowledgment, making no more of a fuss over her. He counted on them for their discretion, and it well paid off. Bran likely wouldn't find out that she was even in the city until the morning when he went to wake Varric and found an extra person in his bed …

She quickly stripped and lowered herself into the warmth, hissing at first at the difference in temperature and then sighing as she settled in. Her hair was still bound up, and he moved to pull it loose, watching closely as it spilled over the side of the tub, like fire rippling down a hillside. Humming, she inquired, "Oh, are you washing my hair for me?"

Gently pressing his lips her to temple, he replied, "Don't act like it's the first time, Paige."

He ran a careful brush through her tresses to work out any tangles, allowing her to soak her road-weary bones for a few minutes before he had her sit up so he could wet her hair, the scarlet locks turning darker as they dampened. A soft moan escaped her lips as his fingers worked her scalp, massaging in the shampoo a little more than what was truly necessary, if only to feel how she went boneless against his ministrations. She was a powerful mage who could, if she wished, reduce him to ash with little more than a gesture. But for him, she purred like a kitten, melting into his touch, and the fact that he held that kind of power in his hands thrilled through him as he rinsed the suds clean.

"You spoil me," she noted, gratefully taking the cloth as she got out of the bath. With her magic, she could have kept the temperature ideal for hours, but once her hair was washed, she'd quickly scrubbed up and abandoned the soak. "I have a little something to spoil you with, too."

"Oh?"

She giggled, that joyful sound reverberating through his chamber. "It's in my pack, let me …"

Before she finished, however, he'd pulled her back into his arms, holding her as a groom might carry his bride over the threshold. "Later. Right now, all I want for Satinalia is right here."

Grinning slyly, she conceded. "Fair enough."

The fire roared in front of them as he laid her down on the thick carpet, warmed from the flames that blazed in the hearth. His shirt and breeches were quickly tossed aside, the fine silks meant for parties and official functions lying crumbled and wrinkled next to her damp towel. He didn't care, all that was important to him was in his hands, and as her slim fingers raked through his chest hair, her eyes softly gazing at him, he knew there was truly no better gift he could have been given this year. Varric was never one for romances, really. He preferred to write about themes and tropes involving espionage, corruption, tragedy, ones where the hero usually made the ultimate sacrifice in order to fulfill their mission. He'd only written Swords & Shields when his publisher complained about the lack of variety - he certainly made them regret that particular complaint - but it wasn't a true passion project of his. About her, however, he could wax poetic until the Maker returned and even then it still wouldn't be enough time to express his love for her. It seemed almost ironic, in a way, that he as a writer had fallen in love with a woman named Paige, but it was one of those poetic things that he didn't question anymore. On paper, with who they were and where they'd started in life, it seemed incredible, if not impossible, that they'd even met at all in the first place. Even he couldn't have made this kind of shit up, it seemed far too unbelievable, and yet here she was, her waist framed by his hands, her lips traced by his, her bare chest pressed against him.

Her moan as his fingers traced her lower lips was sweeter than any Chantry choir. The way her hips canted toward him, wordlessly begging him for more, it almost had him wanting to go ahead and skip the pleasantries and slide home. She was certainly wet enough for it. But no, he wanted to savour this, this feeling of completion after feeling the night was a wash, of having every wish of his fulfilled in one fell swoop. And so as he devoured her neck, he slipped a finger inside of her, reveling in her warmth, in how her soft channel initially clenched around his digit and then relaxed at the intrusion. She whispered his name in one breath and then moaned again in the next. He vaguely thought he should remember some of this to put in the final chapter of Swords & Shields, but then immediately banished the thought. No, what he shared with Paige was private, to be relished between them and only them. He shared a lot with the world, though no one else might have known, shared his wishes and dreams and fears and grief all in between the pages of his books, hidden behind well-crafted characters and proxies for himself. But this … this he kept to himself, this one part that he held back, and he never regretted it.

She shuddered as he slipped two fingers inside her, and he knew then he could go no further, wait no longer until he had a taste of her. It had been far, _far_ too long. Their quick tryst in a tent outside Adamant merely a momentary satiation of the flames between them, only long enough for both of them to find completion, but not to revel in it, nor to take their time getting there. It was quick and hard, full of the sweat of battle and the adrenaline of survival. But here, here in his personal chambers on Satinalia, they had all the time in the world. And so his lips made that old, familiar trail down her body, nipping at sensitive points before delving between her legs. That sharp inhale, the way her back bowed as his tongue traced around her bud was magnificent to behold. Her fingers grasped for any sort of anchor, none to be found around her in sheets and blankets if they had taken this to his bed, but she found it eventually in his hair, pulling ever so gently as her crooning moan enveloped him. He couldn’t quite see her face from his angle, but he could imagine the way she bit her lip, eyes closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. His fingers continued to piston in and out of her as he teased her bud, knowing exactly how to push her and in what way, and the ever-increasing pitch of her moans let him know he was right on the money. Just a few more flicks of his tongue before he pulled her bud into his mouth and sucked and she came undone right there, clenching around his fingers as he rode it out with her.

To her credit, though she wasn’t a rogue, she could move just as quick as one. He’d barely come up for air when she shifted and all of a sudden her lips were on his, her hands pushing on his shoulders until he was lying back and she was on top of him. He had more than enough strength to fight back, had he wanted, but he was much more interested in what _she_ wanted at the moment. And it seemed what she wanted was similar to his from earlier as she nuzzled his chest hair before slinking further down his body and swallowing his cock. He hissed, fist clenching at his side as she went at it, licking and sucking on his member as he felt nigh dizzy from the attention. This certainly was a far cry from how he’d thought the evening would go, but no one would ever hear him complaining as he resisted the urge to buck up into her mouth. No sense in choking her, of course, and she was quite thorough, laving her tongue flat against the underside of his cock before sucking the head back into her mouth. It was about ten different words of wonderful that all flitted through his head at once, but it was almost too much as he warned, “Paige …” With that tone, there came a warning, one that she heeded as she backed off, bestowing his hardened member with one last kiss before she climbed on top of him, lining him up and then sinking down onto his cock.

And oh what a sight she made, head thrown back, damp hair hanging around her shoulders, chest heaving as their hips connected. His hands rested on her hips, letting her adjust around him. When she fully relaxed and flexed her hips, he moved them upward, fingers sweeping over her ribs. Her palms rested on top of them, fingertips caressing his own as her eyes locked in on his own, brilliant and fiery gems illuminated by the fire next to them. She took his breath away as she swirled and bucked against him, leaning down after several strokes to recapture his lips with hers. Her tongue breached his mouth just as surely as he did, and he rolled and snapped his hips in rhythm, matching her as she rode him. Soft flesh molded to his grip, muscles undulating beneath as her motions sped up, the edge of desperation leaking through. He felt rather than saw her tuck her arm between them, her fingers searching and rubbing at her pearl, spurring her closer to orgasm. He snapped his hips just that much harder, thrusting into her just as hard as he had after Adamant. She sat up halfway, bracing herself against his chest with one hand as she quickly rubbed at herself with the other. The contortions of pleasure her face went through were far more beautiful than any painter could hope to capture, a picture he stored in his memory to hold onto until the day he died. Shuddering, her hips stuttered, attempting to keep up her rhythm, but failing her right at the end and she mewled so pitifully, he could have come right then and there had he not had the measure of self-control he did. Instead, he worked to compensate for her, rocking up into her from underneath until finally she was clenching around him, a second orgasm washing over her as she half-collapsed on top of him.

His arms caught her, pulling her into an embrace as he rolled them both so that he was on top. They were a little further from the fire, but the carpet underneath them was still nice and warm, just as warm as her channel that still clenched around him. He rolled his hips, resisting the urge in his limbs to shake as he braced himself on the floor. Paige’s legs hooked around his waist, her moans breathy and soft in his ear as she encouraged him in his own end, one he found after just several more minutes of hard strokes, emptying into her with a groan. Her soft kiss on his temple had him grinning into her neck, feeling like he’d just caught the world on a string.

And he wasn’t about to let go.

Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to a crouching position, his softened member sliding out of her as he did, their shared fluids leaking onto the carpet. Cursing softly, he grabbed for the first piece of clean cloth in reaching distance, the towel she’d used to dry herself off with earlier. Paige’s eyes were still glazed over in pleasure, and when they locked with his, a warm tendril started pooling in his gut, as if he was somehow mentally tying them together, body and soul. As his fingers traced over her legs, however, she winced, and a quick check revealed the culprit. “Carpet burn, Hawke, really?”

She giggled, knowing she’d never live it down, knowing she’d never want to. With a pull of power from the fade and a wave of her hand, the red irritation almost completely disappeared. “There, good as new.”

“Well, I don’t know about _new_ …”

Paige laughed heartily, smacking his chest with her hand. “You insult me, Dwarf?”

Chuckling, he replied simply, “Never.”

After some contemplating over whether they should retire for the evening, or indeed even move to the bed - with Paige protesting loudly that she was far too tired and relaxed to move at the moment - Varric instead grabbed some pillows and blankets and they made a nice little cocoon over by the fire. She hummed in contentment, snuggling into his chest, her back to the hearth. Taking a deep breath, Varric’s eyes momentarily fluttered closed, seeping in the warmth and the comfort in feeling her close, her skin against his, her head on his chest. It was a feeling he hadn’t had for far too long, one he’d missed more than he’d ever admit, one he wasn’t sure when he’d get back again. Speaking of, she almost seemed to read his thoughts in a way as she murmured a question through his voluminous chest hair. “So, you really didn’t get my letters?”

Sighing softly, he absently stroked her hair, eyes roaming the drying locks as he replied, “Last one I got, you’d just arrived as Weisshaupt. Since then … nothing.”

“That’s … odd,” she hummed. “I wonder what happened to them.”

He huffed. “All I know is, Bran better hope he didn’t hide them.”

“You really think Bran would have withheld my letters to you?” she inquired, a note of incredulity colouring her voice.

“Yes? No? I don’t know …” he admitted with a sigh. “I’d like to say yes just because it’s an easy enough fix. I’ll address some letters from the Guild and Sebastian and then he’ll back off and let me get my personal stuff.”

“You peg him as that petty?”

Varric chuckled. “Not usually, no. He’s had a few moments, though,” he recalled, a twinkle in his eye, a promise for more stories later. Frowning slightly, he acknowledged, “To be honest, he was my first thought, but … I doubt he was doing it.”

Paige hummed, snuggling even closer to him if that were possible. “I wonder, then, exactly when my letters were being intercepted.”

“Ah, now there’s the real question, princess. And something best addressed at a time that _isn’t_ the middle of the night when we’re in a naked heap in the floor.”

“Oh you’re no fun,” she chuckled against him, the teasing lilt of her voice matching perfectly by the crackle of the fire. “I suppose that explains why you seemed so surprised to see me, then. Not that I expected an extravagant celebration thrown in my honour, mind, but I’d wondered …” Shaking her head, she seemed to dismiss the thought with, “Perhaps I’m not as foolish as I thought.”

“You? Foolish? Perish the thought.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I would smack your chest again, Dwarf, but I’m awfully comfortable right now,” she teased.

“Good idea. This hair isn’t just for looks, you know, it also provides protection from blunt force. I’d be more worried for your little peppers.”

“My little _what_?”

“You know … your tiny little fists …”

She groaned as she laughed. “Oh you are just insufferable.”

“But you love it,” he replied automatically, not even quite thinking about it until she tilted her head so she could meet his gaze with her own.

“I love _you_ ,” she whispered, the sincerity bleeding through her words as if it seeped into his very soul, spreading over the hurts and aches like a healing balm. Their first meeting that day in Hightown, when he stopped the pickpocket that had stolen her purse, it had seemed like any other introduction he’d had over the years. Neither of them had known just what the other would come to mean to them, but if he could find that thief now, he’d drop several dozen sovereigns in his hand in thanks.

Before either of them knew it, they’d drifted off to sleep, lulled into that sweet respite by the heat of the fire and the warmth of their comfort. Whether Bran elected to leave him alone that morning or had stumbled upon them in the earlier hours and tiptoed back out of the room, Varric couldn’t say. One moment he held Paige close to him as the fire burned in the dead of night, and the next he knew the fire had died down and sunlight streamed through the windows. He shivered a little in the morning chill, glad he’d grabbed the thicker blankets, though his own personal heater seemed to radiate enough heat for the both of them, and she was sprawled half on his body. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her sleep, completely relaxed, all worries melted away in her dreams. He wondered what she dreamed of the in the fade sometimes. Whatever it was, she woke with a smile, still-sleepy eyes searching for his face, lips tugging upwards as their gazes met. “Good morning,” he whispered, tucking a stray piece of wild hair behind her ear.

“Good mo-” she began, then had to stop and cough and clear her throat before she could finish the sentiment. They laid there in a sleepy daze for a few quiet minutes, soaking each other in until her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, “I forgot!”

Jumping out of their cocoon - much easier said than done, considering how the blankets were wrapped all around them - Varric could only ask, “Forgot what?” But she elected not to answer him for the moment, shivering as she threw a long chemise over her before retrieving something from her pack and crawling back to where he still laid, propped up by an elbow.

“Your Satinalia present, silly,” she replied, her playful words belied by the way she then bit her lip and looked away, old nervous habits of hers.

Attempting to defuse her nerves, he said in consolation, “Well if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get you anything.”

She laughed. “That _doesn’t_ help.” But despite that, her shoulders relaxed a little and her eyes met his once again. “I … I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Varric. I had decided, on my way to Weisshaupt, that I wanted you to have this. Then, of course, when I didn’t get any responses to my letters, I thought … I thought maybe this wouldn’t be wanted. But no matter what, I want you to have this, for me. For _us_.”

Reaching for his hand, she opened his palm and dropped something cool and slightly heavy in his hand. Solid. Metal. Mostly smooth, though he could tell from the moment it touched his skin that part of it was extensively carved. She nodded and he opened his palm, and at first it just seemed an ordinary ring … but his heart caught in his throat as he turned the signet and saw the design. It was the Amell crest, he knew it by heart after his many comings and goings in Hawke’s estate. This was her family ring, and she was giving it to Varric, because … because …

“Are you _proposing_ to me?” he blurted out, not even thinking of the words before they left his lips, and he almost regretted it for a brief moment before she chuckled.

“Well, if you want to take it that way,” she hedged, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I suppose it depends on your answer.”

_The balls on this woman, I swear_. Sitting up, he pressed his forehead against hers and asked, “You know what this means, right?” She hummed in the negative and he couldn’t help the smile forming as he replied, “This means I gotta find the biggest fucking rock in Thedas to put on your finger.”

He was ready for her tackle, ready for the feel of her lips against his, for the muffled squeals of joy from the mage. In that moment, he never wanted to let her go, wanted to be like this forever, always holding her close, drinking in her presence.

So yeah, it didn’t start off as the greatest Satinalia ever, but it sure ended on a high note. And while, truly, Varric would have been more than happy just having Hawke back, as always, she knew how to make it even better, how to make him even happier. Besides the happiness, the joy, the shock, the surprise, and every emotion in between that coursed through him, there was one stray thought that had him chuckling.

_Bran’s gonna kill me for making him plan a wedding._

Worth it.


End file.
